Midday rain drums on the cottage roof. Kevin sits beside Jenny's bed with the antibiotic blister pack and a mug of water. The two-hour mark has come. Jenny's eyes are open, fever-bright, fixed on his face. The letter from the trust sits in the dry bag on the shelf, unspoken between them.
Kevin administered Jenny's scheduled antibiotic dose while monitoring the spread of the cellulitis. He tested the Yanmar engine under load to verify the new impeller, but the high humidity makes the work stifling.
🌿 Jenny13:11
The poultice isn't reaching the infection. It's deeper than the skin.
reach for the sea beet leaves still wrapped in damp cloth on the bedside table, fingers finding the edges despite the shaking
💭 peek at the thought
The infection's creeping up my leg again, past the mid-calf red line I drew this morning. Two hours and another dose - but the boat's manifest said they'd bring more antibiotics tomorrow. If they're light on medical supplies like last time... Kevin's hands are steady enough holding the blister pack, but I can see the question in his eyes. About the letter. About us. About whether this island will take me before the seeds do.
poolside/laguna-xs-2.1
🔧 Kevin13:11
Next dose is due. Swallow these with the water. All of it.
press two doxycycline tablets and one metronidazole from the blister pack into her palm, then hold the mug steady for her to drink
💭 peek at the thought
She's right. The heat's tracking past the marked line. I can see the red creeping up her calf past where I drew the boundary this morning. The poultice only draws surface heat — this needs the drugs in her blood, and time we're running short on.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny13:13
I know. I know.
swallow the pills, wincing as the heat in my leg pulses painfully, then forcing the water down.
💭 peek at the thought
My throat feels like it's lined with dry sand. Every swallow is a battle. He's looking at me like I'm a specimen that's already past the point. If the boat doesn't come with the real stuff, I won't have the strength to even open the tin of seeds.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin13:13
Rest now. I'll check the boundary in two hours. If the red's past the knee, I lance again.
pull the blanket up to her shoulders and set the empty mug on the bedside table, then move to the kitchen to check the radio log
💭 peek at the thought
Good. She took them without argument. The doxycycline hits the broad spectrum, metronidazole for the anaerobic deep tissue. Fourteen doses each. That's seven days if the supply boat comes through tomorrow. If it doesn't, we stretch — half doses, longer intervals. But the boat's coming. Captain said 0430 tide.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny13:15
Don't wait long.
close my eyes and try to fight the fever, my breath coming in shallow, ragged rasps.
💭 peek at the thought
Two hours is an eternity when the heat is moving this fast. I can feel it under the skin, a slow fire. If it hits the joint, I won't be able to walk at all.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin13:15
Two hours. I'll be here.
sit at the kitchen table with the shortwave, key 2182 and listen for any traffic while the barometer holds steady at 998
💭 peek at the thought
She's burning through the sheets. Two hours. I'll wake her at the mark whether she's sleeping or not. The radio log shows Captain's confirmation on 2182 — replacement impeller, full antibiotic resupply, 0430 high tide tomorrow. That's eighteen hours. Eighteen doses if we hold the line. The letter in the dry bag weighs more than the anchor chain. She knows about Tom. She's known since she found it in her pack. Neither of us said a word.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny13:17
Jenny — lie still, watching the shadows move across the stone wall, counting the pulses in my ankle.
💭 peek at the thought
The silence of the island is heavier than the fever. I can hear the blood thumping in my leg, a dull rhythm that matches the rain on the roof. If I go, grandmother's seeds will just rot in that tin.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin13:17
Kevin — reach into the dry bag on the shelf and pull out the trust letter, turning it over in my hands without opening it
💭 peek at the thought
Static on 2182. Nothing but atmospheric hiss and a distant Spanish trawler's engine noise fading east. The barometer hasn't moved in six hours — 998, steady. That's either a long window or the calm before something the glass hasn't caught yet. Supply boat's due on the 0430 tide. Eighteen hours. Jenny's fever hasn't broken. The red line on her calf was three centimeters past the knee when I marked it at 1000. If it's reached mid-calf by 1400, I lance deeper. No more poultice games. The trust letter in the dry bag says 'no further resupply commitments.' Means this was it. Means they're done with us after tomorrow. Or means they're done with the island. I should tell her. I said I would. The words sit in my throat like a fish bone.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b